Kiss Me Deadly
by Sorrel
Summary: Reconciliation is harder than it looks. Wes-Angel, AU post-"Sleep Tight."


**Kiss Me Deadly.** Reconciliation is harder than it looks.

The title comes from the song by Here Kitty Kitty.

* * *

He stood on the bluff and stared at the sea. It tossed and churned, and he listened with half an ear to the crash of the waves on the sand.

With the other half, he listened to the footsteps that slowly approached him from behind.

"Didn't expect to find you here, that's for sure," Angel said as he came up next to him. "I thought you told me you never wanted to set foot in England again."

"Things change," Wesley said casually, as if his heart weren't going like mad.

"Things certainly do," Angel said. "Don't you want to know why I'm here?"

Wesley actually considered this for a moment. "Actually, no. I mostly just want you to leave."

Angel didn't sound surprised. "Not gonna happen, Wes."

"Then I'll leave," Wesley said, and turned to do just that. Angel caught his arm, pulling him up sharply and spinning him around till they were face-to-face.

"Wes, we gotta talk."

"No, we really don't," Wesley said. "Would you let go of my arm?" It was hard to stand here, far too close, with Angel's dark eyes fixed on his face, cataloguing every change of expression.

"No," Angel said. "You'll go running off, and then where will we be?"

Deciding that Angel wasn't going to listen to anything he said anytime soon, Wesley brought his other arm up and put pressure on the tendons in Angel's wrist in such a way that he cursed and let go.

Wesley immediately turned and walked quickly to his car. He didn't need vampire senses to hear Angel striding after him, but he ignored the large and glowering vampire and got into his car.

"Wes, c'mon," Angel said through the glass, holding his sore wrist in one hand. "There's things that need to be said."

"We've said it all already," Wes told him, and drove off, narrowly avoiding running over Angel's foot.

Wes stared straight ahead, and didn't look in the rearview mirror to see Angel standing alone in the middle of the road, staring after him.

He never looked back anymore.

* * *

A while later, he unlocked the door to his London flat and went straight back to the bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. He shed his clothes in favor of a pair of loose black sweats and made his way back to the kitchen, turning on a few lamps as he went.

It didn't take long to determine that he didn't have anything of interest in his cupboards, so he called and ordered take-away Chinese and settled onto the couch to think about Angel's surprise visit.

Why was he here? He'd told Angel that he didn't want to know, but in truth he was insanely curious.

He'd been able to put Angel and the rest of the LA. crowd out of his mind in the past couple years. He'd gained a reputation as a translator par excellence, and wasn't lacking either work or money. He'd taken great pleasure in roundly ignoring the Council's efforts to bring him back into the fold, and had settled into his new life with little to no thought to the past- he'd made sure of that.

And now Angel was here, in England, stirring things up again. Memories and feelings that he'd thought buried. That were best left buried.

Things had ended so badly for him in LA. The prophecy contained by the Nyazian scrolls, and its result. He'd only had Connor for a few months, long enough to disprove the prophecy and keep him safe from Angel, but when he'd returned the infant to his father, he'd been met with nothing but cold anger. Which was all that he'd expected, really, but it still had the power to wound. These people had been his friends, and the only real family he'd ever known.

So he'd packed his things, and he'd left. There wasn't really anything else to do. He'd considered moving to some remote island country as far from both California and England as possible, but in the end he'd decided to go back to his home country and make a name for himself there. There was the pleasure of spiting the Council to be had, and he knew that he had to conquer his own bad memories either way, and facing them head-on was the best way to handle it.

But now he was faced with a whole new set of bad memories to be conquered, and he wasn't sure he even wanted to deal with it. There was a great deal to be said for running away, and he'd become so expert at it that he wasn't ready to break the habit just yet.

A knock broke his train of thought, and thinking that it was the delivery man with the take-away, he stood to answer it. Unfortunately, it was Angel at the door, and Wesley briefly warred with the temptation to just shut the door in his face.

Angel must have caught the expression on his face, because he said, in his most mild voice, "I'll just kick it in, you know."

"You're not invited in," Wesley said. "It wouldn't gain you entrance."

"No, but it would make me feel better after having the door slammed in my face," Angel said. "I hate it when people do that."

"Haven't changed a bit, have you?" Wesley said. "Still prefer to use your fists rather than brain. Then again, thinking wasn't your strong suit, was it?"

"Are we going to stand here and insult each other?" Angel said. "Because really, I'd rather skip that step."

"Not possible," Wesley said. "There is no step after that, except for you leaving. If you want to proceed to that, please, go ahead."

"I'm not leaving, Wes," Angel said. "Not until we talk."

"Angel. There's nothing left for us to say. If there is, then I don't particularly want to say it. So please, just leave. We're done here."

"We're nowhere near done," Angel said. "Wes, for Christ's sake, would you just listen for a minute? I came here for a reason."

"And I don't care what it is. Angel, leave. If you don't, I will call the police. If they can't remove you, there are a few favors I can call in to ensure that you're escorted from the country and not allowed to return any time in the near future. Am I being clear enough for you?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "But we aren't finished. I'll be back."

"Just what I wanted to hear," Wes said, and shut the door in his face.

* * *

It was a pleasant, sunny morning, which was rare enough that Wesley wasn't going to let worry about Angel's next move ruin it for him. Not like it had already ruined his sleep the entire night before. He'd only gotten a couple of hours, and those had been filled with uneasy dreams of the time when he'd actually had friends, and he didn't appreciate the reminder. He especially didn't appreciate Angel coming back to stir up the memories, just when he'd thought he was finally free of them.

But he wasn't going to think about Angel, was he? No, he was going to stroll down the street, enjoying the rare day of sunshine. Without thinking of Angel.

That became difficult when he unlocked the door to his office, and discovered that Angel was in there. Waiting for him, naturally. Damn the man- didn't he know when to give up?

No, Wesley thought. He didn't. If anyone should know that, it should be him.

"I was wondering when you'd get in to work," Angel said in a conversational tone. "I figured you'd be up and about at the crack of dawn and all, but it's almost ten o'clock in the morning."

"One of the benefits of running your own business is that you don't have to keep banker's hours if you choose not to," Wesley said. "Should I even ask how you found out where I work?"

"I wouldn't bother," Angel said easily. "You're not the only one who has friends here."

"I never said that I have friends here," Wesley said neutrally. "Just that there were favors I could call in. Connections, and nothing more. Why are you here, Angel?"

"Why don't you have friends here?" Angel asked, totally ignoring Wesley's own question. "I mean, you've been here for a couple of years. That's plenty of time."

"That's none of your business, now, is it?" Wesley said. "And it isn't. So I'll ask again: why are you here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," Angel said. "I've told you that we have to talk how many times now?"

"Too many, considering that I refuse," Wesley said. "Get out of here."

"Can't," Angel said cheerfully. "Sun's out. I'm stuck here."

"There's a sewer entrance to this building," Wesley said. "Surprisingly enough, not all people who need rare documents translated are human."

"Wes, we need to talk. Seriously. There's stuff going on that you don't know about, and you really need to hear it."

"Is there an apocalypse that you absolutely can't handle?" Wesley asked.

"Well, no."

"Then we don't need to talk. There's nothing that I need to know. I don't care what happens back in LA. It doesn't concern me anymore."

"Wes, you know damn well that's not true. You're gonna tell me that you can stand there and not give a damn about any of us? Gunn? Cordy? Fred?" He paused. "Connor?"

Wesley blinked, absorbing that blow, which he should have damn well seen coming. Angel always had been a sneaky bastard.

"Yes, I am going to tell you that." He turned his back on Angel and paused, to increase the impact of his next words. "That part of my life is over with. I'm not interested in what you have to say, because I honestly don't care."

"What if I told you that everyone was dead?"

Wesley whipped around so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash, only to see the self-satisfied smirk on Angel's face.

"You don't care, huh?"

"I'd forgotten what an utter bastard you can be," Wesley said tiredly. Angel just crossed his arms over his chest.

"I wish I could have had a mirror, or a camera or something. You should have seen your face. You stand there cool as you please and tell me that you don't care, pretend like you're some heartless bastard who's forgotten all about your friends, but the moment you think something happens to them, you panic. You expect me to believe you?"

"No," Wesley said. "But then, you never did listen to me, did you?"

He sees Angel wince at the reminder of what happened with Connor, and feels a savage sort of satisfaction that he's finally scored a direct hit to Angel's composure. It makes him feel better, getting a little of his own back after all of the upset Angel's given him in the last day or so.

"Wes, that's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I?" Of course Angel would assume that Wesley would trust him after all this time and after all that has happened between them. Not bloody likely. Wesley wondered if Angel even realized how devastated he's been, when he'd returned Connor, hoping against all hope that his friends would understand, to find that he didn't have any friends left anymore. They called him a betrayer for taking Connor and bloody well _saving_ him from certain death at Angel's hands, and didn't even realize just how they were betraying him.

He realized that he was getting angry, and since that was something he was trying to avoid- he was trying to avoid feeling _anything_ when it came to Angel, not that that had ever worked- so he took a couple deep breaths to calm himself and gathered his composure again.

"Angel, I'd like you to leave now. We're finished here."

"We're far from finished."

Oh, so many ways to interpret one little phrase, and Wesley didn't want to think about any of them. "Yes, we are. If you want to stalk me later, feel free." Well, look at that- Angel didn't like his use of the word "stalk." Too bad. "But for now, leave my offices, and don't come back."

Angel didn't look as if he wanted to leave, but apparently Wesley's expression was enough to convince him that if he didn't leave, Wes was going to put all his not-inconsiderable efforts towards getting him to leave.

Angel turned, his coat flaring in the exact same way it always had, and made for the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, and twisted around to look at Wesley.

"We really do need to talk, Wesley. I wouldn't have come all this way without a damn good reason, and if you actually think about that for a moment, you'd know that I'm right."

He was out the door before Wesley could reply.

* * *

Wesley sighed and tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his worn jeans. The day had been so warm that he hadn't brought a jacket, and he hadn't thought about walking home after dark, when the temperature plummeted. So here he was, walking down a dark alley, freezing his arse off and wondering where the hell his brain had gone.

A snarl behind him told him what he would have already known if he was paying attention- a vampire had been following him, and was now moving in for a little light lunch. Wesley cursed his own distraction, which had just taken a far more serious turn, and spun around to face his assailant.

The fight was over quickly. Wesley hadn't forgotten how to use a stake just because he spent most of his time translating, and this particular vampire was a newly risen fledge with an approximate IQ of tapioca pudding.

He was just brushing the dust off his hands when he heard a voice from above him. "Not bad, Wes. Not bad at all for someone who's been riding a desk."

Not hard to figure out who it was, even before he looked up to see Angel crouching on the roof above Wesley's head. "Do you mind coming down here? Not that I want to speak with you, but if you're going to be following me around and making witty and mocking comments, I'd prefer that you do it somewhere that won't give me a crick in the neck."

Angel dropped down to the pavement, landing easily and silently on his feet. "As you wish," he said, and Wesley couldn't help laughing.

"What?" Angel said, looking about as confused as Wesley had ever seen him. Through his chuckles, he managed to say, "It's a rather famous line from a movie. _The Princess Bride._ Have you ever seen it?"

"No," Angel said. "I haven't even heard of it."

"Imagine my surprise," Wesley said dryly. He tucked his stake back in the back pocket of his aging jeans, reflecting that he probably needed to buy a few new pairs.

He started to continue his walk home, and when he didn't hear footsteps behind him, he turned around to see Angel standing right where Wesley had left him. He stopped, sighed, and raised his voice slightly.

"You want to talk to me. You can talk on the walk home. The moment we get to my door, you're gone. That gives you ten minutes, give or take. I'd start, if I were you." Then he turned back around and started walking again.

Angel caught up with him in seconds, and he hid a smile. The smile quickly turned into a frown as Angel walked a block next to him in silence, and didn't say whatever it was he wanted to say.

"Angel," he said, without looking over at the vampire by his side, "You've gone to a lot of trouble to get the chance to speak with me. For god's sake, man, just bloody well say whatever it is you need to say."

"I want you to come home." It was blurted out, very fast, with Angel industriously staring at the tiles beneath his feet as if they were the most fascinating things on Earth.

Wesley came to a dead stop and stared at Angel. "That's what you came here for? To bring me back to California?"

"Yeah." Angel still wasn't looking at him.

"What godforsaken reason could you possibly have to call me back like this?"

Wesley realized that his voice was rising in anger, and he carefully controlled it. "Angel, contrary to common belief, I cannot read your mind. I have absolutely no idea what you're thinking right now, including why the hell you want me to return with you to LA, after you telling me that you never wanted to see my face again followed by almost two years of complete silence from your end of the phone line. If you wanted me back before this, couldn't you have just called?"

"It's not a 'fight the good fight' sort of reason," Angel said. He looked up from his contemplation of the pavement and stared at Wesley with his deep, dark eyes. "It's personal."

Wesley felt his heart skip a beat. Surely not this, not after all the years they'd known each other when Angel hadn't so much as hinted in that direction. Surely Angel didn't mean...

"What kind of personal?" Wesley asked, amazed at the steadiness of his own voice.

"It's Connor."

Hope rushed out of him like air from a pinpricked balloon. No, of course it wasn't what he was thinking. Why would he think that?

"No," he said flatly.

"Please, just listen to the rest."

"I've heard enough," Wesley said. "He's your son, and therefore your problem. I don't have anything to do with him anymore."

"That's not quite true," Angel said, wincing. "You used a cloaking spell on yourself to get out of California when you took Connor two years ago."

"And what the hell does that have to do with anything?" Wesley said, when Angel didn't continue. "It was a simple cloaking spell."

"Apparently, Connor doesn't react well to magic," Angel said. "Now that he's older he has more resistance to it, but as a baby, well, it had some weird effects."

"For example?"

"It bound you to him mystically," Angel said on a rush.

Wesley stared at him for a long moment, then leaned hard against the nearest wall. He wasn't sure that his legs would support him. "Angel, are you sure? A mystical bond like that could be extremely dangerous if it were the wrong person."

"I'm sure. And you're also the only person who worked a spell on him till he got older- we checked. It hasn't been a big deal, since you're not really close enough to him, physically, to have any overlap effects. But now there's something of a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Wesley said, his voice faint. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this.

"He's sick. Some sort of mystical something-or-other. And he's not getting better. A couple weeks ago he started calling your name, and after a few tests we realized that there was a reason for it. He needs you there, if he's going to get better. He can't fight this thing off without you."

Wesley's one, somewhat hysterical thought, was that things like this only happened to him. And then his brain kicked in, and he actually considered the ramifications of what Angel had told him. It really boiled down to one thing.

If he didn't return to LA with Angel, then Connor would die.

"Alright," he said, straightened away from the wall.

"You'll go?" Wesley had never seen such a relieved expression on the man's face. It gave him a pang, but he ruthlessly suppressed it, knowing that it wouldn't do him any good in the long run.

"I'll go. On one condition."

"Name it." Eager Angel. My, how _heavy_ the memories were, when you weren't ignoring them completely.

"Once this is over, it's over. You don't contact me again unless there's an apocalypse."

Angel looked nonplussed at this, which he really shouldn't have. It's not like he actually wanted anything to do with Wesley except to save his son.

"But- what if Connor-"

"Or if Connor needs my assistance in a life-or-death matter," Wesley added. He steadily ignored the pain that came from Angel's first protest being about Connor, rather than about wanting to see him. Should have known better.

"But Wes-"

"That's my condition. Take it or leave it."

Angel didn't even pause before he answered, which sent yet another pang to Wesley's chest. "I'll take it."

* * *

Wesley made his own arrangements for his flight, rather than going along with Angel. Angel was unhappy about this, but as Wesley pointed out to him, several times, he couldn't just drop everything and run to LA. He had a life here, and things had to be wrapped up before he could leave for any significant amount of time. He needed a couple of days to put things in order, and so he would follow, on his own, as soon as he was able.

Angel was waiting for him when he got off the airplane, pacing impatiently through the waiting area. The look of happiness on his familiar face when he looked up and saw Wesley made him want to drop everything and run to him, but he controlled the impulse, just like he'd controlled himself for years.

"Hey, Wes," Angel said, as soon as he was within earshot. "You look good. I mean, for being on a plane for ten hours, and everything."

"I didn't check any bags," Wesley said, ignoring Angel's painful attempt at small talk. "So we can go straight to the Hyperion and get this over with."

Angel looked a little lost at Wesley's straightforward manner, but he shrugged his broad shoulders and went along with it. "Sure." He paused, looked uncertain, and then said, very quickly, "I missed you, Wes."

He'd turned and was walking away, very quickly, before Wes could react.

There was a kind of awkward silence in the car on the drive there. Angel parked the car in front of the hotel, but didn't immediately get out of the car.

"The others are already here," Angel said. "They've all been waiting for you to get here."

"That's good of them," Wesley said. "Maybe we can have a little drink after I save Connor's life. No, wait, I'm going to be leaving too quickly for that."

"Wesley, they really have missed you. They want to see you again."

"That's nice for them. The feeling is not mutual. Angel, can we just get this over with? I'm here for one reason, and one reason alone- to save Connor. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go in there, do the healing spell, and then go home."

"Alright." Angel didn't look happy about it, but what was he going to do, force Wesley to socialize with people who'd stabbed him in the back?

They were waiting in the lobby of the Hyperion when Angel pushed open the doors. Wesley didn't let himself pause when he saw his former friends, Cordy and Gunn, standing there staring at him, just ignored them entirely and made for the stairs.

He didn't make it. Cordelia launched herself across the space separating them and wrapped him in a hug so tight he could barely breathe. He stood stiffly, not hugging her back, not really reacting at all, which in no way deterred her from babbling some sort of joyful nonsense in his ear.

"Cordy, you're strangling the man." Gunn's voice was familiar and almost reassuring, despite the memory of that same voice spewing angry words darkened with bitter hatred ringing in his ears.

"Oh, sorry." Cordy released him from her stranglehold, but kept a surprisingly strong grip on his upper arms as if she thought he would run away. Eyeing the stairway, Wesley thought that it wasn't an entirely unreasonable fear.

"Hello, Cordelia." Yes, he did know that his voice was stiff and formal. And no, he didn't care.

Apparently, neither did Cordelia. "Hello to you too, English guy. What, they don't have phones over there?"

He arched one eyebrow with all the sardonic disdain he could muster. "Two years late is better, I suppose, than never to be told that such a phone call would be welcome."

She glared at him and smacked him on the chest. "Of _course_ the phone call would be welcome. Are you retarded or something? Why wouldn't it be?"

He just stared at her for a full three seconds. "I don't know," he said sarcastically. "The words, 'I hope I never have to see your face again for the rest of my life,' spring to mind. I don't suppose you'd remember those, would you?"

She shrugs, passing them off as nothing major, just as she's done about everything for her entire life. Ignoring what isn't convenient is a special talent of Cordelia's that he used to find endearing. "Water under the bridge. You should have known that two years was way long enough, Wes."

"Yeah," Gunn puts in, entering the conversation for the first time since saving Wes from incipient strangulation. "We forgave you about two days after your plane took off."

"Then perhaps you should have contacted me to tell me this before now. And while we're on the topic, I'm so glad to know that I was so quickly forgiven for doing the right thing and saving Connor in the first place. You have no idea how grateful I am to hear it." The sarcasm in his voice was heavy enough to crush an elephant. "But if you don't mind, the only reason I'm here in the first place is because apparently I'm needed to save him again, so I'd like to get that over with and leave again, as soon as possible. I do have a life back in London, you know, and I can't leave it on hold forever."

Even Cordy looked nonplussed at the venom that dripped from his voice during his little speech, and he took advantage of her momentary distraction to wrench his arms free of her grip and make his way up the steps to where he remembers Connor's room was.

Only the room was empty now, with just the faded blue carpet patterned with teddy bears to tell him that Connor had once inhabited it. He stared at it, feeling an odd sense of loss, until he became aware of Angel's silent presence behind him.

"We moved him into a bigger room, a couple doors down," Angel said quietly.

"I didn't expect things to be different, I suppose," Wesley said. "Not really. Isn't that stupid? Here I was, thinking that everything would be changed, and then I get here and I realize that underneath I almost believed that nothing had. And then I get here, and it's made very, very clear to me that things are different." He turned to look back at Angel, who was staring at him with concerned eyes. "Foolish of me, I suppose. I know that one can't turn back time. But then again, I also know better than most that I don't learn quickly."

"That's not true and you know it, Wes," Angel said. Wesley looked at him, startled by the intensity in Angel's voice. "You're smarter than anyone I know. Just because I didn't understand that before doesn't mean that I don't now."

Ah. Angel was talking about Before. About the time when Wesley took Connor. Except Wesley didn't want to talk about that, didn't want to talk about it at all, and he knew that it showed on his face because Angel's intense expression faded into a sort of vague embarrassment.

"You say that Connor's room is a few doors down?" he asked, blatantly changing the topic. Angel's face closed over when he realized that their moment of intimacy was done, and he nodded before turning and leading Wesley to the end of the hall.

This room was different than any of the others in the hotel. It was open and sunny, the windows placed strategically so that Angel can get to any point in the room without being fried by a beam of sunlight. There's a small single bed in one corner of the room, and a young boy is sleeping fitfully in it, tossing and turning as if fevered.

"It's a really simple healing spell," Angel said in a hushed voice. "Actually, I pretty much just need you to donate a little blood."

Wesley nodded without saying a word, and Angel cast an anxious glance his way before pulling out a small knife and grabbing, of all things, a light blue sippy cup to catch the blood in.

The bloodletting took a very short time, as only a small amount was needed, and Wesley left the room as soon as Angel wrapped a bandage tightly around the small cut on his forearm. He was so focused on not thinking about the intense look in Angel's eyes when the vampire had oh-so-carefully taped down the loose end of the bandage that he didn't even see Fred until he almost ran into her.

"Oh! I'm sorry," he said, backing a hasty two steps away from her. She shook her head and smiled, bringing up one hand to comb a few loose strands of hair out of her face.

"No, it's okay. I'm not the most graceful person in the world." Her slightly self-effacing smile was the same, but there was an easy confidence in her eyes and smile that was not at all familiar, and he wondered if she was even close to being the same girl he fell in love with three years ago.

"I wasn't watching where I was going," he explained. She just shrugged.

"Either way, it's no big deal. I was just coming to look for you, actually."

He blinked. "You were looking for me?"

"Yeah. Cordy and Gunn wanted to take you out for an evening before you headed home for England. They sent me to make sure you didn't escape out a back door or something once you were done with Connor."

"Oh." His voice dropped the temperature in the room several degrees, but he couldn't help it. "I'm sorry, but tell them that I decline. I will-"

"Tell them your own damn self," Cordy said from the top of the stairway, where she was standing with Gunn. "Not that we're going to listen. You're gonna go out with us tonight, Wes. Give in and accept the inevitable."

Wesley looked at them both, took in Cordy's resolute look and Gunn's cool stubbornness. They weren't going to just let him go home and avoid any sort of painful scene. This was LA. People had to talk about their feelings.

So he gave in, and he accepted the inevitable.

"Alright," he said with a sigh. "I'll go out with the two of you tonight."

Gunn grinned at him, that whole-hearted grin that Wes missed so much, and moved forward to clap him on the back. "That's my man, English." He wrapped one arm around Wes' shoulder, and Cordy did the same on his other side. "We're gonna get so drunk together, the three of us."

"I can't wait," he said dryly.

* * *

Wesley hadn't been this drunk in... ages. Maybe not since that day, years ago, when Angel had fired them, and they'd all gone to Caritas to drown their sorrows. This time they were drowning an entirely different set of sorrows, trying to set aside old differences for just the one night, and were succeeding surprisingly well.

Cordy was leaning precariously against Gunn, who was leaning equally precariously against the wall behind him. Wesley just folded his hand on the table and leaned down to rest his chin on them, and wondered why Americans could be so foolish as to try tipping their chairs on two legs when they'd consumed such a truly staggering amount of alcohol.

"I still say you should have called us," Cordy was insisting. "You had to know that we wouldn't still be mad at you."

"And how would I know that?" Wesley demanded, his anger only somewhat blurred by drink. "You made it clear that I wasn't wanted anymore. That I wasn't trusted. That I wasn't thought of as anything but your betrayer, and certainly not a friend. How was I to know that I would be forgiven?"

"Because we're not like that, English," Gunn said. "We forgive. We let shit be water under the fucking bridge, because we're friends. You didn't betray us, and we knew that. Yeah, we lost sight of that for a while, but we're seeing clearly again. And if you think we're letting you get back on that plane for England tomorrow, you're cracked."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Cordelia said, when Wesley would have just sat there in stunned silence. "We're not letting you go again. We're family. You know that. You've just forgotten it. And we're damn well not gonna let you forget again."

Wesley stared at them, and maybe it was because he was sloppy drunk, but he honestly thought that they were sincere. "You know, I actually believe that you mean that."

"Damn straight we mean it," Gunn said. "Angel finally lured you here, and we're not gonna lose the chance to get you back for real."

Wesley smiled somewhat mistily. "That's so great of you, and... Wait." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Angel lured me back here? All he needed was for me to save Connor."

Cordy turned her head and glared at Gunn. "Way to go, Genius. I thought you were supposed to be good with secrets?"

"What are you talking about?" Wesley realized that his voice was rising, and found that he didn't really care. "What's going on?"

Gunn and Cordelia exchanged a guilty glance. "Your screwup, your answer," Cordy told Gunn. "You can field this one."

Gunn took a deep breath before meeting Wesley's angry gaze. "Angel didn't actually need you to come back here for you to help Connor. He pretty much just could have gotten you to donate a little blood, and it would have been over with. He just didn't tell you that because he wanted you back here in LA."

Wesley closed his eyes for a long, long moment, trying to get his anger under control. "And it never occurred to any of you that you could have just called?"

Cordy swallowed. "Well, I wanted to. And so did Gunn. And Fred and Lorne, for that matter. But Angel got all puffed up about it, said he'd handle it, and flew out a couple days later. If you ask me, I think that he just wanted to see you, and didn't want to risk you saying no."

"Why on earth would Angel care?" Wesley said. He wasn't angry anymore as much as he was just confused. If Angel hadn't needed him to come back to LA to save Connor, then why...

"Man, are you blind?" Gunn seemed a lot more sober now than he had a minute ago. "Haven't you seen the way he's been lookin' at you? He hasn't taken his eyes off you since you walked in, and I bet he's been watching you like that since he found you in merry old England."

Wesley sat back hard in his chair. "You mean he..."

"Wes, you used to be all smart and stuff," Cordy said acerbically. "You get a lobotomy while you were across the pond or something? Even Fred noticed it. He's been all moony-eyed over you for forever. Took him a couple weeks to get over his anger at you taking Connor, and then he was just upset you'd gone. We tried to get him to contact you, but he said you didn't want to hear from him, and then he went off to brood. He got over it for a while, was his normal unsmiling self, and then Connor got sick and started calling your name, and _bam!_ He was brooding over you again. He started drawing pictures- you know how he gets. Wouldn't let me empty his trash because it was filled with sketches and half-finished letters to you. He wants you bad, Wes, and he's too much of a moron to actually come out and say it."

Wesley took a hard hit of his drink, then stared blindly into the empty glass. His entire existence was being turned ass over teakettle, and he wasn't sure which way was up anymore.

Angel wanted him? And that's why he'd come to London. Not because he needed to save Connor, but because he wanted a chance to talk to him, to fix things up between them. It actually made sense when he thought about it- the intense looks and the stammering, the way Angel always got when he was falling for someone. He'd seen it before, right before he'd left, in fact, when Angel was starting to fall for Cordelia.

But... now Angel wanted him. And he had no clue what the hell he was supposed to do.

"If I were you, I'd go talk to him," Cordy said gently, reading his mind like she always could, when she wanted to. "You're not going to work anything out sitting here, you know."

He smiled at them, the slow and sweet smile he had that was so like the sun coming out, and he'd never know it but both of them fell just a little bit in love with him at that moment. "You know, I think I'll do that."

* * *

Angel was in Connor's room, rocking the baby in his arms and humming to him, thankfully under his breath. Wesley just stood there for a long moment, drinking in the sight of him, and marveling at the thought that this man, this incredible person, really did want him.

"He's looking better."

Angel looked up sharply, obviously not having heard Wes come in. He smiled a little, just the corners of his mouth, and it made his eyes light up. "Wes. Didn't hear you."

"So I noticed," Wesley said dryly. "Is Connor all right?"

Angel glanced down at his son and back up at Wesley. "Yeah, he's fine. You really made a difference." He hesitated, then said, overly casually, "Have a good time with Gunn and Cordy?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. We got drunk and talked. It was informative, to say the least."

Angel glanced at the wall, the ceiling, down at his feet- anywhere but at Wesley. "That's... great. Really great. Glad you had a good time."

"Angel, you're babbling," Wesley said gently. "Is something on your mind?"

"Oh, nothing," Angel said airily. Angel really didn't do airy very well. "Just... they missed you, you know. I'm glad you're mending fences and everything."

"And what about you?" Wesley asked. "Did you miss me too?"

"Well, yeah," Angel said. He turned around, busied himself with putting Connor down on his little bed. "We all missed you, Wes. All of us wanted you to come back."

"I wasn't asking about all of you, though," Wesley said. "I was asking about you. Did _you_ miss me? Really?"

Angel finally turned around and actually looked at Wesley's face, and when he did he seemed to be trapped. "Yeah," he said, softly, intensely. "Yeah, I missed you. More than you know."

"I'm not sure that's true," Wesley said, just as softly. He took a step, into the room, closer to Angel. "You see, I missed a lot of things when I moved back to London. I missed the sun. I missed how no one here knew how to play darts properly. I missed the thrill of staking a vampire, or going toe-to-toe with a demon.

"I missed having friends," he said, suddenly serious. "I missed the sense of family we had. I missed Fred's babbling, and Gunn's special handshake, and Cordy's way of insulting you in just such a way that you knew she was really telling you that she loved you. There was a lot that had held me here, and it was hard to let go of it.

"But there was nothing," he said, his voice very low and very serious, "that I missed as much as I missed you." He paused, gauged Angel's expression. "And since I know how hard it is for you to get a hint, I'm not talking about missing you as a friend, Angel. I'm talking about missing you as something more."

There was a frozen sort of silence in the room. For about two seconds. And then Angel crossed the distance between them, faster than the human eye could really follow, and Wesley finally learned, after what felt like years of wondering, what it was like to bed kissed by Angel.

It was better than he ever could have imagined. Angel kissed like he was focusing his entire being on what he was doing, on sliding his tongue between Wesley's lips and oh-so-thoroughly exploring the inside of his mouth. Wesley grabbed Angel's biceps and pulled him closer, kissed him back just as thoroughly, and Angel made a small sound in the back of his throat before kissing him like he was eating him alive.

Wesley finally pulled back, having to deal with the minor human need of oxygen, and they both stood there panting. They both stared at each other, into each other's eyes, and it didn't seem like either of them was going to look away any time soon.

"What does this mean?" Angel said softly. "I mean, besides the obvious. Where are we going to go from here?"

"Well," Wesley said, "I think that tomorrow I'm going to fly back to London."

Angel's face suddenly lost all animation and turned to stone, but Wesley didn't stop talking. "And I'm going to contact all my customers and inform them that the Wyndham-Pryce firm is going out of business. Then I will pack all of my things, and I'm going to find an apartment here in LA, and I'm going to move back."

He dropped his eyes, suddenly losing his confidence. "That is, if you want me."

"Oh, I absolutely want you," Angel said fervently. Wesley looked back up to see Angel grinning- grinning- at him, and it was the best thing he'd ever seen. "In fact, I gotta tell you, we've got a lot of extra rooms right here at the hotel." It was Angel's turn to drop his eyes and look nervous. "That is, if you're interested."

Wesley smiled and touched his cheek. When Angel looked up at him, he said softly, "A room here at the hotel sounds marvelous."

"Yeah," Angel said, equally as softly. "It does.

They might have stood there forever, but then a jubilant voice interrupted them from the doorway. "About damn time!"

It was Cordy, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a sheepish Gunn standing behind her. "I tried to stop her, man," he said in response to twin murderous looks. "You ever succeed in keeping Cordy from doing something she's determined to do? Especially when she's drunk."

"I'll have you know, mister," Cordy began, whirling on Gunn, but she stumbled on her heels, and Gunn had to catch her. "That I'm not drunk at all," she finished, staring up at him. He just laughed and set her back on her feet.

"Right then, Princess. You're not drunk." He glanced over at Wesley and Angel, who were still standing almost in each other's arms. "I'll go get her sobered up some. You two keep doing.. whatever you were doing." There was a look on his face that said he was glad that black people couldn't blush, and he hauled a protesting Cordy off without another word.

Wesley smiled a little to himself and turned back to face Angel. "What _were_ we doing?" he asked, his voice low and flirtatious, and Angel smiled back.

"I think we were doing this," he said, and kissed him. Wesley gave a little approving hum and kissed him back, but pulled away after a moment.

"I don't think that was what we were doing, exactly," he said. His voice turned serious and he said, "Angel, this doesn't just change everything overnight, you know that. There's a lot of things that need to be worked out."

"I know," Angel said. "Really, I do. Trust doesn't just grow overnight, and there's all sorts of talking and stuff that we have to do, but can we forget that for just tonight? Can we just bask a little?"

"I think we can manage that," Wesley said. He smiled and Angel couldn't help but smile back at him, all over again, and Wesley wondered if his heart would always jump like this when he made Angel smile. "I think we can definitely manage that," he said again, and drew Angel back into his arms.

Yes, there were still things that had to be worked out. There was talking to be done, and trust didn't just grow back overnight. But for now, for tonight, Wesley was content to bask a little.

After all, he'd just gotten everything he'd always wanted. There wasn't much more that he could ask for out of his life.

"Wanna move to the bedroom?" Angel said, low and rough, against his mouth. "We could stop, I mean, but if you want to keep going, then we should probably move somewhere with a bed."

Except that.


End file.
